What Is Hell To A Demon
by ebbtide
Summary: My take on Dean's return from Hell and how the brothers may have changed. AU. Written pre-Lazarus Rising.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

Harsh orange flames licked at his tortured skin in painful waves. The very air he breathed was heated almost to the point of suffocation. Dean Winchester's body rejected the nerve impulses in a pitiful facsimile of a scream. The groans and cries of thousands filled his consciousness, he tried to block them all out unsuccessfully. They broke through every mental barrier he had tried to erect.

There were no words to be distinguished, only the tortured voices of those unfortunate many in the land of Hell.

Light filled his vision, so bright he could not escape it even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It was white hot and seemed to burn through his brain in a ray of raw pain.

His broken body convulsed involuntarily.

--

A soul - did the spawn of Hell have souls? Dean let the thought float away into the space surrounding him. There was no end to the torment, to the pain, to the knowledge that he would soon lose himself. He held on, he held on to sanity so hard it tore his muscles. A following spasm wracked his body with waves of pure anguish. The flames burned red hot.

_For Sam._

The one thought that repeated over and over in his mind. _Do this for Sam, for Sam, for Sam. _A half-whimper escaped between split and bleeding lips. He moved them to mouth the words his mind kept repeating. _Hold on for Sam, for Sam. _Dean tried to take a breath, but choked on the horrid fumes and scorching heat. He felt his heart skip a beat before he caught his breath.

--

Sam had promised he would not resume pursuit of the answers to what the Yellow Eyed Demon had done to him. Dean held on to the hope that his Sam had done just that - had turned away from the Hunting lifestyle and went back to the fairytale, apple-pie life he had yearned for, so ardently, years before. Dean held onto that single hope like a drowning man to a raft. Maybe it would be just enough to keep him above the surface of insanity.

Sam is safe. _This is for Sam, for Sam, for Sam. _

Dean Winchester moaned in agony, his bones shattering painfully in his flesh from the effort of resisting the temptation to just let everything go and give in. He could not. For Sam he could stand the heat and pain a moment longer. Then a moment after that. A moment at a time he lived through Hell.

His resistance to the natural progression of demonic influence was the only thing that saved him in the end. Sam would be less fortunate and as time passed they would both see the truth.

CHAPTER ONE: DEEDS

Sam Winchester stood in the alleyway, his body frozen in shock. The sound of cars, their lights flickering off the building walls, and of people echoed dimly in the heated, sulfuric atmosphere of the alley.

A familiar shape lay in a shallow pool of boiling blood two feet in front of the stunned man. Sam knew it was Dean, he could recognize his brother anywhere, but he knew that it was impossible. It had to be impossible, right? Sam could not seem to get his legs to move even as his mind raced through the many scenarios that would explain how his older, dead brother had suddenly appeared face down on the ground.

One second Sam Winchester had been charging through a darkened alleyway after a supernatural monster and the next he had been staring at his brother's still body. Sam felt himself shift, as if out of a deep trance, and then he was at Dean's side. He reached down to turn the body over and cried out in pain when he burnt his hand on the red hot clothing. Using his coat sleeves to protect his hands he tried again and this time he was able to carefully turn the body over.

"Dean?" Sam called softly.

It _was_ his brother and there did not appear to be a single scratch on his perfectly tanned skin. The blood had cooled as the sulfur smell dissipated and now it caked Dean's shirtfront, transferring onto Sam as the younger brother hugged the unconscious, but breathing, elder Winchester.

"Dean." There was no sound, save the life-giving rush of air entering and exiting his brother's lungs. "Dean."

The hotel room Sam had paid for was seven blocks away and Sam knew he would have to go for help. Thinking quickly he dug his cell phone out of his pants pocket and speed dialed Bobby's number. The man was less than an hour away.

"Bobby, it's Sam." He greeted the older Hunter seconds later. "Yeah, I need your help. I - I found Dean."

There was a long silence on the line and then an incredulous retort from the family friend.

"I'm not joking with you, Bobby. He just appeared in front of me and - and…" Sam had to stop before the emotions that wanted so desperately to get out confused matters. He blinked rapidly and took a deep breath before continuing. "And he's alive. I don't know how, but he's alive." Standing to his feet Sam sprinted to the edge of the alley, glanced to the right and then ran back to his unmoving brother. "The corner of Main Street and Golden Oak. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Bobby."

He flipped the phone closed and stuffed it back in his jean pocket.

Dean was alive and that was more than Sam had hoped possible after so many long months of searching for just such a miracle.

"Come on, Dean, wake up." He pleaded softly.

It had been eighteen months of pure torture for the younger Winchester. No matter what he tried, the grief had been too hard deal with alone - and he had been so alone after Dean's death. The Hunts no longer held any appeal, let people's mistakes kill them. It was not his problem. Life meant nothing, let it end. Love…Sam had been with women in those dreary months, but there had been no love, no feelings involved. Only base human need.

He had become half of a person. Part of his soul hidden away in some deep place mourning for the brother that he had thought lost forever.

The only escape had been the hours he had spent honing his powers. Those special abilities that made him something less that demonic, but more than mere human. It had been his only plan, to build up an arsenal of powers so that he could literally walk into hell and find his brother. Bobby had seen only a brief glimpse of the mad obsession that had taken hold of Sam after his brother's death and it had scared the seasoned Hunter. The phone call had been their first communication in almost seven months.

Sam hugged Dean's limp body against his own. He needed to feel the rise and fall of the chest, hear the heartbeat, see the flutter of eye movement under the closed lids. Sam needed Dean to be back and whole and in control. His sanity depended on it.

To master his demonic powers, Sam had let himself try things that he knew Dean would not approve of - things that he, himself, did not approve of. Desperation had changed him as he tried to find a way to save the only person he had ever looked up to, ever truly cared about.

It was a crazy plan he no longer had to worry about, but then what about the powers? What about the consequences of his actions? At the time it had seemed necessary, worth it. Sam clung tighter to the steaming jacket on his brother's back and then he let loose the sobs of lost innocence.

How would he explain away the things that he had done. The actions he had willfully, if misguidedly, committed in his brother's absence. How could he excuse his deeds? How would Dean? His soft cries of anguish fell flat in the stagnant alley as he wrestled with internal demons.

--

"Bobby."

Sam greeted the bearded man with a short nod. The old Hunter studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he could trust Sam, and then turned his attention to Dean.

"He hasn't woken up." Sam said. "I don't know why, I couldn't find any injuries."

Bobby shot him a surprised look. "His body has been broken and torn apart. _He. Was. In. Hell." _He emphasized each word strongly. "Then there's the mental damage. We might not have Dean back after all, only time can tell us that."

As much as Bobby Singer wanted to see Dean alive and well, he knew from hard experience that things were rarely as simple as they appeared. The unmoving body of Dean Winchester, held in the arms of his brother, was a stark reminder of that. It would not take an experienced Hunter to know that bodies and souls were mutually exclusive.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked angrily. "That this is just some - some sick, galactic JOKE! Are you saying that this." He patted the body he still hung onto tightly. "Is just a body? That his spirit is still stuck in Hell? Is that what you're telling me?" His voice had gotten steadily louder as fury took over.

There was no way he was going to sit back and listen to someone shatter his dreams and hopes. The body in his arms was real enough and that was all Sam needed to know. Spirit or no spirit, Dean needed his help.

"Calm down, Sam." Bobby snapped impatiently. "We can find out later, but right now we need to get your brother to a hospital."

"Right. Right." Sam shook his head, dispelling all selfish thoughts in order to focus on his brother's needs. "You're right."

--

Dean screamed at the top of his perfect, pink lungs and sat bolt upright in the hospital bed. He could still feel the flames melting his skin, hear the roar of the fire, feel the overabundant pain of a million tortured souls. He screamed again before the reality of his surroundings sunk in.

There was a sound of running feet outside the closed, white curtain that separated his bed from the rest of the world. Dean flinched away from the sound, hiding his face behind both arms which he held up protectively. He waited for the hit, the burn, the pain. The horrible, unrelenting, reaction to movement or sound.

"Dean?"

"Dean?"

Two concerned voices spoke over each other. Dean felt a bone-deep fear paralyze him and it took all of the willpower in his possession to lower his arms and open his tightly closed eyes. For a moment all he saw was light and the hypnotizing unfurling of Hell fire. Then the vision was gone, in it's place he saw Sam and Bobby hovering on either side of his bed, their faces taunt and pale.

"Are you alright?" Bobby asked worriedly.

"Dean?" Sam whispered urgently.

The two standing men exchanged glances when the man on the bed made no move or attempt to respond. Wide green eyes flitted suspiciously from Sam to Bobby. Dean knew it could not be real. He had not escaped from Hell. There were no miracles.

"Dean, you're safe, you're back. We're at a hospital." Sam tried to explain in a fast rush of words.

"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked more calmly.

Dean looked between them both. It took a moment, but then the realization struck home hard. They were there, they were real and even though he could still feel the phantom burns of a recent memory, he knew that he was really out of Hell. He felt like dying, running away, hiding, sleeping, crying and laughing all in the same moment. In the end he settled for a dry rasp.

"Water." The hoarse croak surprised even Dean. He cleared his perfectly healthy throat. "Can I have some water?"

His body did not need the drink, but his mind felt parched for the life-giving liquid.

"Sure thing, brother."

Sam disappeared outside the white curtain only to return moment later with a cup of ice and water. He held it carefully as Dean sipped a little. The cool, silky feel of the dampness sliding down his throat was heavenly to the older Winchester. Dean moaned in ecstasy.

"More."

Bobby propped him up as Sam helped him to finish the rest of the cup.

"Better."

Dean relaxed back in exhausted joy. He wanted to do nothing but rest and drink water for a month, but he knew that something miraculous had happened and Murphy's Law dictated the chances that he would remain so lucky. Any second he expected to be sucked back into the great oblivion.

"Do you know how you got here? Did you…" Sam lowered his voice a pitch. "…did you climb out of Hell, Dean?"

The short haired blonde shrugged. "I'm here, do we really need to knit-pick the how?" He asked.

"Yes. What if it isn't permanent?" Sam voiced Dean's worst fear. "What if this is the demon's version of a joke and any second now you get turned back into a dead man?"

"Dean's here now and he's not going anywhere." Bobby interrupted forcefully. "We'll figure this out. It just might take some time."

"Time? How long?" Sam demanded, his voice growing in volume as anger took over. An anger that came all too fast these days.

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist, latching on with a vise-like grip that brought the younger man's words to a sudden stop.

"Please, don't fight." Dean requested in a broken tone.

Bobby and Sam both stared at him, into the eyes that spoke of torments and injuries time could never fully heal. It was Dean laying in the hospital bed, but it was not the self-confident, cocky, in-control Dean of the past. No, this was a dependant, hurting, traumatized Dean Winchester and the reality of that left the two men speechless. It should have been expected, after all, who could survive Hell - months of Hell - without emotional damage? Sam swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"Alright, Dean. No fighting." He promised, laying his own hand over his brother's. "At least until your better." He tried to joke, but it came off as pleading.

Dean squeezed the wrist reassuringly and then released it. "I'll get better, Sammy. It just might….take a while."

The blonde haired man blinked and in that split second, when his eyes were shut, he felt like he had never left Hell. The fire, the screams, the hate was all still there. The blink ended and so did the horrifying vision. A feeling of defeat washed over him, so strong it pulled him down into himself.

"Dean? Dean!"

Sam's panicked cries drew him back out of the haze of depression and sadness and emptiness that had, for that single moment in time, seemed to engulf the entire world.

"Yeah, I'm here. Just remembering, you know." Dean tried for nonchalance, but the fear in his eyes was all to real. "I don't think I'll ever forget it, Sammy."

"We're going to help you, Dean. You just hang in there." Bobby spoke earnestly.

Sam nodded.

"That's sweet." Dean muttered, a tinge of his old bravado sneaking into his words. "Guess I'll just have to cry my river, build me a bridge and get over it."

"We will get through this, Dean. Together." Sam said.

The elder Winchester felt tears snake down his face at these words. He felt too weak to reach up and brush them away, too tired of holding everything inside. After what he had went through and experienced in the past months he no longer cared if his "tough boy" image shattered under the pressure. All he cared about was his Sammy and getting better so that he could be there for his younger brother. It had kept him alive and sane in Hell and it would keep him that way now that he had been given a second chance.

"Sam, do you believe in angels?"

Dean's question was the last thing that either Bobby or Sam expected to hear. They exchanged another look, this one filled with confusion.

"You know that I do, Dean." Sam answered slowly. "Why?"

"I think I might have seen one. It's starting to come back to me." Dean Winchester looked past them, his gaze remote and haunted. "I think it pulled me out of Hell."

"What?"

"Come again?"

The simultaneous questions were answered with a shocked expression.

"I think it was Mom."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO: DIFFERENCES

"Wait a minute, what do you mean?" Sam asked with a nervous laugh. "Mom's not an angel, okay. Remember Lawrence, our old house and that poltergeist? Mom's - Mom's." He looked to the side, hiding his pain. "She's gone, alright, Dean."

The blond sat up with a glare. "Yeah, and apparently she's gone straight to heaven, because I know what I remember and I know what I saw. It was her and she was an angel."

"Dean, what you went through - it plays with the mind." Bobby began skeptically.

"I KNOW WHAT I SAW!" Dean shouted. His eyes blazed and then he blinked - saw that awful vision again - and then the brilliant green gaze mellowed into a calm. "I know what I saw." He whispered softly.

As silence descended on the trio, Dean tried not to ponder the possibility that every time he closed his eyes he would be back in Hell. He would take it over the real deal, but if the simple act of blinking caused him to regress into those memories then he wondered how he would ever get back to "normal".

"You should try to get some sleep, Dean." Sam suggested.

Dean felt fear course through him, causing his body to shake in tiny tremors. He felt as if his very bones were frozen with the fear that he might wake up back in that place - that this was all a damn dream. He knew in his mind that his escape was real, but his heart still needed convincing.

"No, I'm good." He said, surprised when his voice came out strong and calm. He felt anything but that on the inside. "I think I'll just…" He cast about in his mind for a diversion, some excuse to stay awake. "Eat. Yeah, I'm real hungry - Hell's menus suck."

Dean tried to laugh at his own joke, it fell flat, but Sam brightened a little. The corners of the younger man's mouth twitched upwards.

"I'll see what I can find."

Bobby took a step towards the end of the bed. "No, I'll do it. You stay with your brother, besides there are some other things that I need to take care of."

Sam nodded and watched as the older Hunter left with a farewell nod towards Dean.

--

Seven days. He had been back in the world seven days and already it was beginning to feel as if he had never left. In those times between bouts of pure, mad terror. The nightmares had been expected, but they always left him feeling drained and broken. Dean wished once again that he could turn back the clock.

"Yeah, alright, Dean. Whatever." Sam chuckled in good humor.

"Seriously, you should give it a try sometime. You might like it." Dean suggested with a shrug. "All I'm saying is that the blue ones are better if you eat them separately. Trust me on this - I'm an authority on the subject."

"Of M&M's?" Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Since when is anyone an 'authority' on M&M's? They're junk food."

"You have no appreciation of fine cuisine." Dean popped a couple of the blue candies into his mouth and moaned in pleasure. "You might want to open up more to the possibilities."

"Enough, with the candy already."

"Fine. Your loss." Dean grinned ear to ear.

Sam felt himself lose it at the sight of the goofy, childish smile that had haunted him the past year. He had dreamed of that smile and of the times they had shared together - good and bad. Now here they were together again, smiling and talking about candy. Vertigo swept over Sam and he sat down heavily on the edge of his motel bed.

"Dude, you alright?" Dean asked, his words harsh with concern. "Hey, are you okay?"

Sam nodded. He buried his head in his hands and let his tears fall. All of the innocence he had lost trying to embrace the side of himself that boasted the demonic powers had been lost for that smile. Everything he had done - all the crimes he had committed - had been to see that smile, hear that laugh, share one more hug. It had all been for nothing. He had sold his soul to the Dark side for nothing. Dean had not needed his help to escape, that much was painfully obvious.

"Dude, you're scaring me! What's wrong, Sam?"

Dean saw his younger brother's pain, but felt helpless. He had never been good with feelings. It had always been Sam who knew what to say or do to make things better. Dean felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the tears dripping off his brother's chin to fall on the tacky, orange carpet. He wanted to reach over and hug the shaking shoulders. He wanted to take his brother's hurt away, but he could not.

"Sam?" The name slipped out, filling the silence between them with a question.

"I'm sorry."

The words were slurred with thick emotion and Dean almost missed their meaning. He moved to sit beside his brother, turning sideways so that he could face the dark haired man.

"For what, little brother?" He asked quietly.

The muffled sound of sobs and sniffs continued and Dean felt even worse for not knowing what to do. He hesitated, then hoping he was doing the right thing he pulled his younger brother into a tight hug.

"You've got nothing' to apologize _for, _Sammy."

"You don't know!" Sam cried into his brother's blue flannel shirt. "You don't understand!"

Dean heard the self-loathing in his brother's voice and fear shot through him. What had Sam done? Whatever the younger man was apologizing for meant far less to Dean than his brother's happiness. Forgiveness was a gift he was willing and ready to impart at a moments notice no matter what the trespass.

Dean held on tightly to his brother, never wanting the physical contact to end. It had been thoughts of his Sam, these hugs, those shared jokes that had kept him sane in the pits of Hell.

It was many minutes later before he pulled back, just a little, so that he could see his brother's face.

"Sammy?"

Puffy, red eyes looked back into his own. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" The older Winchester repeated his earlier response.

"For - for." Sam took a steadying breath, one last tear spilling over his eyelashes. "Letting you down."

"Never. You could never let me down." Dean insisted firmly, his grip on his brother tightening as if to prove this. "There's nothing you could have done that I'm not willing to forgive - unconditionally."

Sam prayed that his brother was telling the truth. It was now or never as he worked up the nerve to voice the atrocities he had committed for his brother's sake. Dean's steady, calm gaze coached the words out like a healing torrent. The entire story of Sam's life the previous eighteen months laid out at his brother's feet.

Dean listened, numbing further at each new reveal. He had meant what he had said. It had been a promise. No matter what new evil his brother might present, Dean knew he would forgive him. It was simple. The confessions he was hearing were anything but.

"-Then I found you." Sam finished.

The silence did not even last long enough for Dean to blink another vision of Hell. His reply was instantaneous.

"I forgive you, Sam."

--

Dean was on fire. Red, hot flames licking at the edges of his vision as bright, white light burned through his skull. He tried to scream away the pain, but all that he could manage was a series of pitiful moans and groans. The torture of a million frightened voices filled his ears with a heinous cacophony.

"Dean! Dean, wake up! Dean!"

He was sitting up before his eyes had even opened. The smell of sulfur and smoke still lingered in his mind as the dream faded away to where the dark memories lurked. Sam was standing over him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Nightmare." Dean stated matter-of-factly.

Sam took a deep breath. "Yeah, I noticed." His brow was furrowed with concern. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked hesitantly.

Dean swallowed the impulse to vomit at the suggestion. Living through it had been bad enough, the last thing he wanted to do was turn his nightmares into reality by talking about the experiences.

"Nah." His tone was dark and brooding.

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed.

"Yes, Sam!" Dean snapped. He blinked, shuddered and then brushed Sam's hand gently off his shoulder. "I'll be fine." He said in a softer tone. "I just don't think I can deal with…talking just yet."

Sam nodded in understanding. "It's okay. I understand."

"Hey, Sam?"

The dark haired man squatted next to the bedside so that he could be eye level with his brother.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"I'm glad you're my brother."

--

Seventeen days back from Hell. Dean finally felt strong enough to try the warm water in the shower - he was tired of cold showers. He took a few deep, calming breaths and steeled himself for the onslaught of warm tap water on his bare skin. Without hesitating he reached out and twisted the knob to Hot.

The man had become better at ignoring the memories brought about by different sensations and there was only a brief flash of phantom burns over his back and chest and then he was fine. His tired muscles relaxed under the barely hot water. He felt like a general who had just won his first battle.

"Yes." He murmured, letting his body lean against the wall of the shower stall as the water rained down on him. "Mmmm."

Nearly three weeks since his return and he already felt more in control. The visions were getting less and less with Sam's help. Over the past week he had found Sam's encouragement meant more to him than anything else. It soothed his fears and strengthened his self-confidence.

"You almost done in there?" Sam called with a brief _tap, tap _on the closed door.

"Just a minute." Dean yelled back over the sound of the running water.

"Hurry up, would ya."

"Fine."

He had already scrubbed his body clean under a cataract of cool water, but Dean had forgotten to wash his hair. Grabbing the tiny bottle of shampoo with the hotel's logo on it he squirted some into his hand and then lathered his short, blond hair. Without thinking, he thrust his head under the hot water, closing his eyes.

The next thing he knew, Dean found himself screaming out in pure agony - the sound he had tried so hard to make in Hell. It brought his brother running. There was a pounding on the door, but Dean could not think, he could only react to the smell of burning flesh and sulfur and the memory of being burned alive in a continual cycle of pain. He screamed again, backing against the shower wall. Crumbling, he slid to his knees, huddling in the corner of the cubicle.

The pounding on the door and shouts of his brother went unheeded as he stared with wide, terrified green eyes at a landscape that was in another place. The water pelted down on him, tiny hot reminders. He closed his eyes and sobbed for the life he had lived and lost. Things could never be the same, he could never be the same. As much as he wanted to, Dean couldn't deny that.

There was a loud crash and then Sam was there, covering Dean with a towel, helping him out of the shower. Dean let himself be led in a numb fog.

"Everything's going to be okay." Sam soothed as he led his brother to the first bed. "It'll all be alright. You're safe - you aren't _there _any longer."

Tears mixed with water as he sat on the bed, his bare feet soaking their impression into the carpet. It had been a fools dream, that he would ever be "normal". Hell had sucked all the "normal" out of him and now there was just beaten, weak Dean Winchester.

"I'm pathetic." He said stoically.

Sam shot him a shocked look. "No you're not, Dean. You're the strongest person I know. No one else could have lived through what you did."

"Hah. Lived." Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Lived."

Sam grabbed his brother by the bare, wet shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "We'll get through this, I promise."

Dean wiped the dampness from his face and gave a half-hearted laugh. "How, Sammy? Every step forward seems to take me two steps back. You too - don't think I haven't noticed the nightmares and brooding. All the things you did to try and save me…all the things that I needed saving from." He tried to find the right words, but nothing seemed right. "Never mind. It's just - I don't see a way back from this one, little brother. We're lost and we might as well admit it to ourselves."

"No." Sam denied firmly. "No." He shook his head. "I'll never admit that and neither will you."

Dean smiled softly. That was _his_ Sammy. Never taking the easy route, never giving an inch under the watchful sight of authority. Dean tapped his brother's chin lightly with a closed fist.

"Well, aren't we the little rebel." He commented proudly.

The younger man lowered his arms and grinned sheepishly. "Learned from the best, Dean." He looked up from under a fringe of dark bangs. "The _best_."

They shared the look for a long moment and then Dean looked down, saw that he was only barely clothed in a hastily wrapped towel around his waist, and promptly stood to his feet. He raked a hand through his hair, embarrassed now about the whole situation. Sam watched him back toward the bathroom quizzically.

"Well, enough of that mushy crap." Dean decided aloud, clearing his throat. "I'll just get dress, alright."

With that he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the broken door as best he could. The shower curtain was ripped on one side and dangled forlornly, scraping against the floor. Dean knew it must have been damaged when his brother had pulled him out of the shower. Naked. Dean moaned and resigned himself to the act of dressing.

"You okay in there?" He heard his brother call from the other room. "Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" He called back loudly.

It was bad enough he fell to pieces at the drop of a hat, but to be so out of it that he couldn't even take a shower…Dean shook his head and tried not to think about ever washing his hair in warm water again. He had become pretty good at not blinking for long periods, but he could not keep it up forever

"What am I going to do?" He asked his reflection in a low voice, so Sam would not hear.

The promise his brother had made earlier played through his head and he nodded. Together they had to make it through this - his trauma and Sam's moral tug-of-war. All they had was each other and it would just have to be enough.

He pulled a blue t-shirt over his head and went back into the main room. Sam was still perched on the edge of the bed with a worried frown and furrowed brow.

"How about we get outta here, huh?" Dean suggested with forced lightness in his tone. "Maybe a road trip, without a destination or hunt in mind."

Sam nodded. It was as good a plan as any, after all, they could not stay in the same hotel room forever. The change of scenery might do them both some good. He stood to his feet and began to pack his scattered possessions into a battered, green duffle bag.

"Let's do it."

--

"Hey, Sam?'

Sam looked over at his older brother, behind the wheel, a reminder of the good old days.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Mom. Saving me. What do you think that it means?"

"I don't know." Sam answered honestly.

"But it does have to mean something, right?"

"Maybe, man, I don't know."

"Well, we should find out." Dean's words were firm and final.

Sam knew his brother was right, he verbalized this agreement as he looked out the window of the car. Town after town, forest after plain whipped by on their trip to nowhere. He tried not to think about what it could mean if their mother, Mary Winchester, had somehow been turned into an angel. He frowned at a sudden thought and turned back to his brother, his coat rustling against the leather seats.

"Hey, I thought you didn't believe in angels."

Dean kept his eyes focused on the blacktop. "That was before I saw one, Sammy."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE: DISCOVERING IN RECOVERY

"This looks like as good a place as any." Dean announced as he pulled the car into a deserted motel parking lot.

The elder Winchester's eyes were burning from fatigue and his stomach rumbled.

"Why don't you go get us something to eat from that gas station we just passed." He said. "I'll go get checked in."

Sam gladly took the twenty bucks his brother handed him. Opening the car door he unfolded his tall, lanky form, stretching out knotted muscles.

"Be back in a few minutes." Sam said as he started walking the block to where the gas station lights flickered ominously. He prayed it was just a power shortage somewhere and held his breath until the lights steadied. "Anything specific you want, Dean?"

"Food." Dean answered sarcastically over his shoulder as he elbowed open the door to the motel lobby.

"Right. Food." Sam muttered under his breath with an eye roll.

--

That night, for the first time in eighteen days, both boys got a full night of sleep uninterrupted by nightmares or visions of death. The next morning the sun's light stroked their faces softly, waking them to a new day.

Dean sat up with a groan and rubbed his eyes - not even noticing, in his sleepy haze, that there had been no phantom burns or accompanying memories of the fires. He yawned and threw a pillow at his still-snoring brother.

"Wakey, wakey, Sam." He huffed when this had no affect on the dark haired man. "Wake up, damn it, or I'm going to start singing."

Sam was up, the blankets thrown off, at the threat. The last thing he ever wanted to hear after waking up in the morning was the sound of his brother's singing. He winced at the memory of their "Christmas caroling" months before. Yawning, he stretched his arms above his head.

"What time is it?"

Dean looked for a clock, but the room did not seem to have one. "Damned if I know."

"Watch." Sam pointed out sharply.

"Oh." Dean looked down at the forgotten time-keeper. "It's, uh, 5:30 in the morning."

"Good, that will give us at least 300 miles before nightfall if we leave right away." Sam said.

"Yeah, and I finally think I know where we need to go." Dean said quietly. It had been preying on his mind for a week now, but he had wanted to be sure before mentioning it to his brother.

"Where's that?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Home. Lawrence."

"Why home?" Sam asked defensively.

He felt his body tense at the memories of that building and of seeing his mother burning up. Sam blinked away tears and took a deep breath, reigning in his emotions.

"How can going back there help anything?"

"'Cause."

"Oh, compelling argument." Sam snapped.

Dean knew this would be hard on his brother, hell it was hard on _him_, but he also knew that it was the right thing to do. Their mother had given up a part of her soul in that house and if she was connected to any thing or any place, it would be there. Dean began packing his own duffel bag, avoiding his brother's accusing gaze.

"It just feels right."

"And you always call _me_ the illogical one!"

At that, Dean straightened and glared at his brother. They stood in charged silence, staring at each other from opposite sides of the motel room. Each wordlessly expressing their opinion on the matter. Finally, Sam turned his head away.

"Fine. We'll do this your way, Dean." He conceded in a low voice. "But when nothing comes of it, I'll be saying I told you so."

Dean grinned and shrugged. "I'm the _oldest_…I know that this is the right thing to do."

Sam chuckled. "Just like you know everything, right?"

"Damn straight."

--

The drive was long and silent, except for the occasional monosyllable response to an equally short question. Dean enjoyed the feel of the wheel, his foot barely letting up on the gas pedal as they journeyed back to their childhood home. Many times Dean had wondered just what their lives would have been like growing up if they had never lived in that house. He wondered if it would have changed anything.

Sam watched the scenery pass by, but his mind was focused on thoughts of darkness. Every moment of every day for the past several months he had been acutely aware of his abilities - those special powers that made him something more than human. A boiling pit of emptiness threatened to darken his mood and he decided it would be best to get some sleep instead of brooding on such uncertain topics. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the window.

"Wake me when we get there." He mumbled to his brother.

Dean glanced over at Sam and frowned. He knew how difficult things were on the younger Winchester. As always, the dark haired man took things harder than others. Knowing that he had made a grievous mistake in giving in to his dark powers had left him vulnerable to the worst kind of torture. Self-torture. Guilt and doubts. If it was the last thing Dean did, he would make his little brother whole again. No more nightmare filled dreams, no more angry mood swings. Gripping the wheel tighter in his hands, Dean swore he would fix things for Sam.

As day slid into dusk and then night the black Impala sped down highways and back roads on a desperate run to reach Lawrence, Kansas. The radio blasted rock music of yesteryear with the occasional accompaniment of a tiring Dean. Mile post after mile post flashed by in a blur of green until finally the Impala's bright headlights illuminated an all-to-familiar rusted sign. Lawrence.

"Dude, we made it." Dean slapped his brothers shoulder. "We're here, Sam."

"Mph."

Sam sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Home?" He asked in a groggy drawl.

"Minutes away."

--

They pulled up to the shadow clothed building, Dean bringing the car to a slow stop. The tree that had stood in front of the house was gone, replaced by finely manicured lawn, and the outside had been repainted a garish yellow. The house lights were on downstairs, but the upstairs was dark. As they watched, three teenage girls walked past the living room window, giggling and whispering into each others ears.

"Looks like new home owners." Dean said with a sigh.

He proved correct when an older man and woman came into view, both unfamiliar to the brothers.

"Well, this is going to make things a little harder." Sam said.

"You think?"

The Winchesters knew that there was nothing stopping them from entering that house and looking for any supernatural trace their mother may have left behind. They had weapons, experience and nothing to lose. The only thing holding them back was the knowledge that the family inside that house was blissfully unaware of the dangers it had once housed. Never in a million years would they wish even a sliver of their lives onto someone else. No, they would wait until the new home owners were gone and then they would do what needed to be done.

"Hotel?" Sam asked in a resigned tone.

"Hotel." Dean agreed, putting the car into gear.

The people in the house never noticed the black Impala, it's occupants tired, worn and emotionally weary. Laughter and happiness filled the house that now belonged to two up-and-coming authors and their three daughters. A stark contrast to the fractured history of the Winchester's time there before the fire. The new owners had never even heard of the fire.

Fates cruel humor.

--

"You should have seen the look on your face, Dean!" Sam burst out into laughter, holding his side. "I thought you were going to pop that waitress in the mouth when she said that."

Dean shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation. "Yeah, well, she shouldn't have said it."

Sam could hear the undercurrent of anger in his brother's tone, but somehow that just seemed to add to the humor of the situation. After all, it was not every day that Dean was thrown so completely. At least, not for several days. Sam sobered at the thought. His brother was healing, recovering from everything Hell had thrown at him. It brought a sparkle of hope to Sam's eyes and he looked over at his brother, who still fumed at his slip earlier in the diner, glad that they were together again.

"We should go back tomorrow morning. It's a school day, so that takes care of the kids, and if both parents work then it should be the best time for us to get in there."

Dean considered the suggestion. "Sounds good enough for me."

"I'll order pizza." Sam volunteered as he reached for the room phone.

Dean organized his things, which meant pulling them out of the green bag and haphazardly strewing them about on his bed. He picked up a few shirts, giving each a strong sniff before finally settling on a white and blue t-shirt that smelled fresh enough. He shrugged off his old, dirty shirt and threw it onto the pile of clothes.

"We're going to have to find a laundry mat too." He muttered with a grimace.

He hated doing laundry, but it was a necessity. Maybe - he glanced slyly over at his brother from the corner of his eye - he could sweet talk his Sam into doing the job instead. Domestic chores never really seemed to bother the younger Winchester.

--

They stood outside the door to the empty house - they had made sure that the owners were out for the day - neither wanting to take that final step that would take them over the threshold of the doorway. Sam cleared his throat after a few moments of strained silence. He held out his arm in invitation.

"This was your idea, Dean."

The elder Winchester frowned at the truth of the words and with a steadying breath he pushed his way into the house. It was quiet, filled with alien furniture and pictures of a smiling, happy family. He fooled the familiar hallway into the kitchen. Dean could still see the ghostly form of his mother as she had been years before when they had come back on the heels of Sam's disturbing vision.

"What now?" Sam asked, he looked around the room for any clue that would explain why his older brother had brought them there. He saw nothing but a new kitchenette set and a few sprouting plants on the windowsill over the sink. It was the typical American kitchen with no lingering visual scars to attest to the horrible ordeals it had witnessed.

"I think we need to summon Mom." Dean spoke hesitantly. He was not sure at all that it was the right move, but in his long career as a Hunter experience had taught him the hard way that following his gut instincts rarely led him astray. "I've got the stuff in my bag."

"I'll run out to the trunk." Sam volunteered, swallowing hard at the emotions brought out under the pressure of memories. "Be right back."

Once his brother had left, the front door closing with a soft _click _behind him, Dean let his defenses fall. His gaze moved upward to the ceiling.

"Mom? Can you hear me?" His voice broke painfully. "I need to know that you can hear me. Mom, please."

There was no response from the oppressive silence. A loneliness descended on him, coming from that place in his heart that he had tried so hard to keep covered up when around Sam. The lost and broken pieces of his soul that Hell had torn wide open. It consumed him now, that emptiness that had been his only company in Hell. A single tear teetered on the edge of his lashes before plunging down his cheek to slip off his chin and drip to the floor. A silent testament to the pain he had been forced through.

"I got it, Dean!" Sam's voice came from the front of the house.

Footsteps approached down the hallway and Dean quickly wiped away the sign of his weakness. He pulled on a brave, calm face.

"Good." He rubbed his hands together. "Lets get started."

--

The summoning ritual was almost complete. Five more minutes and the boys would finally know what had happened to their mother, Mary Winchester. Dean felt his heartbeat speed up at the thought.

The door opened, they both turned in that direction in surprise. Exchanging worried glances, Dean and Sam each reached for their personal weapons. Dean, the pistol he kept in a hidden pocket on the inside of his coat. Sam, the gun tucked in the small of his back. Weapons at the ready the two men stood slowly, falling into the old routine. Dean in front, on the left of the hallway entrance, Sam on the right a step behind.

There was a muttering of voices and then the sound of several people moving up the stairs. Then silence.

"Well, this can't be good." Dean whispered.

"You think?" Sam replied darkly. "We have to get this stuff cleaned up and out of here before someone comes downstairs. We'll just have to come back another time."

Dean felt himself losing it at the thought that they had come so close to having answers only to be foiled at the last moment. He knew his brother was right. It only took them a few moments to scoop everything from the kitchen table into their duffle bag, the ritual ingredients mixing together in a jumbled mess.

With one last look to make sure they had not missed anything by accident, Dean followed Sam out the back door and then they made their way around the front to where the Impala sat, a stoic guard.

--

"Talk about bad luck." Dean complained when they made it back to their room. "Ten more minutes and we would have had answers."

"Maybe." Sam replied, still not convinced that their desperate search for answers would reveal anything at all.

Dean rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. "Come on, man. You've got to give me a little trust on this one, okay."

"I am, Dean. I mean, hell, I helped you break into some poor family's house and - ." Sam looked over at his brother and stopped abruptly.

Dean let his legs collapse out from under him, sending him to the floor in a graceless slump. He held his hands, fisted, over his ears a low moan escaping between clenched teeth.

"Dean, are you alright? Dean!" Sam knelt at his brother's side. It only took a moment to recognize the hurt filled, anguished look in Dean Winchesters eyes another moment passed by and then Sam realized the cause. "Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to say he- I didn't mean to say _it_."

Sam had tried to be careful around his brother, but Dean had been making so many improvements in the past few weeks it was becoming harder and harder to remember just how broken his brother really was inside. Twice before he had made the mistake of using the curse word 'hell' in his brother's hearing and each time it left the older man a mess. Sam wanted to kick himself for committing the same error yet again.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. Everything's going to be alright. I'm here, you're safe and no one is going to hurt you."

The single, carelessly used word had been an instant, irresistible reminder of the real place. That place of blinding pain and hopelessness. Dean bowed his head, ashamed of the weakness that he could not seem to shake. He was suppose to be the older brother - the strong one.

"It's alright, Dean." Sam spoke softly.

Dean took a deep, ragged breath and blew it out slowly to calm his nerves. After another few moments he felt collected enough to stand. He pushed his brother away in a gentle shove.

"I'm fine now, dude." He reassured the younger man with a wan smile. "Once we get back home….figure out what's really going on - I'll be a lot better then, but for now I'm fine."

Sam watched him closely through long bangs. He wished that he could just believe the reassurances, wished that he did not know the truth. His brother would take a long, long time to be _fine_.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR: THE ANSWERS, THE DANGERS & THE WAITING

"It would have to be a weekend!" Dean complained, slapping his hand hard against the Impala's black steering wheel. He huffed angrily. "Now we'll have to wait until Monday - assuming the house will be empty by then."

"It's Saturday, not the end of the world. Just relax." Sam tried to calm his brother. "You're going to get upset and that's the last thing that _you _need."

"Newsflash - I'm already upset!" Dean ground out with a deep frown.

"Yeah, well, get un-upset." Sam sighed heavily. "We both know that it won't do anyone any good for you to have another anxiety attack."

"I'm surprised that you're taking this as well as you are. After all, little brother, with your powers we could be in there and out before they even knew what hit them."

Sam flinched. "What _hit_ them? Nice, Dean. Now I see what a sterling opinion you have of me and my…gifts."

"I didn't mean it like that." Dean responded defensively. "I only meant that if you're even half as wired up as I am to see mom again and find out what happened then - wait." He stopped, Sam was avoiding his gaze. "You don't think that she's really in heaven, do you? You think I imagined the entire rescue."

Sam shook his head, but his gaze remained averted. "It's not like that."

"Really? 'Cause that's sure how it's looking from here. Mind explaining?"

Sam opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. He searched for the right words that would explain how confused he felt inside. On the one hand he knew that his brother had not just mysteriously appeared in that alley without some ones - or some things - help, but on the other hand their mothers soul had been destroyed years before.

"Why don't we go back to the motel? We can relax, watch some TV or something. Beats waiting around here on the off chance they might go out."

"You're changing the subject." Dean said. He took one last look at the house and gave in. "Alright. We'll come back tomorrow - maybe we'll get lucky and they'll go to the beach."

Sam chuckled at his brothers sarcastic words. "Yeah, the beach - in Kansas." He responded with equal sarcasm.

--

"Anything good?" Dean asked as he exited the bathroom of their motel room after a long, cool shower.

Sam looked up from the local newspaper he had been idly perusing. "If there was even a hint of a Hunt would you really want me to tell you?"

"Honestly?" Dean asked. "Probably not."

"Good then." Sam went back to reading his paper.

"Why? Is there something?" Dean let his curiosity get the better of him. When his brother merely shrugged, he sauntered up behind the dark haired man to read over his shoulder. "The dead girl, towards the bottom?" He asked after a few moments of scanning the paper.

Sam sighed heavily and folded the paper over so that the referred to obituary was hidden from sight. "Yes. Now let it go. The last thing we need is a Hunt on our hands - neither one of us is exactly in top shape."

Dean dipped his chin. "True, but maybe this is what I need. You know, get back into the thick of things."

Sam laughed bitterly. "I really don't think so, Dean."

"Come on! We've got a whole weekend and I'm going stir-crazy already." Dean paced the room as if to prove his point. "A Hunt would take my mind off of things."

Sam frowned. "Or it could get you killed…again. No, Dean. End of discussion."

Dean clenched his jaw.

"Besides." Sam added, jerking his thumb towards the mess of clothes on and around Dean's bed. "If you're that desperate for something to do I saw a laundry mat a couple of blocks away."

Dean spread his hands. "No way, man."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "You're the one complaining about the dirty clothes _and _you're the one with nothing better to do."

"What do you plan on being busy doing while I'm waiting in a room full of screaming kids and gossiping old ladies?"

"Sleep." Sam's eyes suddenly grew shadowed, haunted and forlorn. "I just want to sleep."

"Okay, Sammy. I'll get out of your hair for a couple of hours." Dean submitted after a moment. "Sorry, for yelling."

Sam shrugged, kicking off his shoes as he made his way over to his bed. Dean quickly gathered up all of the clothes he could fit into his duffle bag. He grabbed the extra room key and drove the Impala to the laundry mat. It took him a few minutes to get everything going, but once it was started he sat down in an uncomfortable, blue plastic chair to wait.

His gaze traveled from object to object in the large, open room looking for something to focus his attention on. It settled finally on a newspaper - the same paper his brother had been reading before - and his earlier curiosity fighting to the forefront, he picked it up and started to read. The girl's story was a horrible one and by the end of the rather short, irritatingly vague article, Dean was even more prepared to Hunt down and kill whatever had left the girl so damaged.

_TEENAGE GIRL MAULED BY WILDCAT_

_Mindy Danielson, 17, was found by a park ranger not far from the South park entrance Tuesday afternoon. She was rushed to the local hospital, no release has been given thus far on her medical condition. A number of recent wildcat attacks in the area have lead the authorities to believe that she was surprised while on a hiking trip. Her family could not be reached for additional details. _

_Although the doctors will not give up any information on Mindy's current status, they did confirm that her injuries supported the alleged wildcat attack. State troopers, local authorities, volunteers and the park service are working together to canvas the area in search of the ferocious animal. _

Dean stopped reading.

If all those people were going to go after whatever attacked the girl there was a good chance someone else would get hurt or killed. Sam would need to be convinced that their help was needed in this case - after all, if they did not stop whatever was harming these locals no one else would. No once else could. With a heavy sigh Dean sat back and tried to think of a convincing argument. He had over an hour to come up with something and as a Winchester, BS was par for the course. Unfortunately, his brother was fluent in the language. Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

--

"They're gone."

Those were Sam's first words when Dean returned with the clean laundry.

"How do you know?"

"I just went over there." Sam shrugged at the look his brother shot him. "What? I felt like walking, okay."

A knowing glint twinkled in Dean's eye. "Room too small?"

"Yeah, a little." Sam ducked his head. "I never said it wasn't, just for the record."

"Uh, huh." Dean smirked.

"Shut up."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The tension that had been building between them for the past few days melted in the face of familiar snark. Dean flashed Sam a bright smile.

"Lets get to it then, little brother."

He flung the bag of clothes off his shoulder and onto the floor. The Hunt could wait, finding answers was more important.

This time the ritual went off without a hitch. Dean felt his blood pump faster, the sound rushing in his ears, as they incanted the last few words of Latin. There was a rush of paranormal wind, brushing their hair back with soft fingers, and then silence. Stillness.

Nothing happened.

Sam shifted, his eyes going from the alter to Dean and then back again.

Dean stared at the alter, unblinking.

Still nothing happened.

The silence became oppressive as they waited for their mother to appear.

She did not.

"Well, this was a crap idea." Sam muttered.

"Shhh!" Dean hissed.

Nothing happened - the silence remained.

"I told you so." Sam sighed sadly. He knew how much this meant to his brother, but he also knew that their mothers soul was gone - destroyed in an effort to rescue them from a malevolent poltergeist.

Dean's complete focus was on the alter and his gaze did not waver even for a moment. He had complete faith that their mother would show up. Just another moment, just one more second. He told himself over and over in his mind. Still nothing happened.

The silence grew.

"Admit it." Sam said softly, after a few more minutes went by. "She's not coming. She can't - wherever she is now. . .she just can't."

"I know what I saw. I know it was her. I know that she'll come." Dean bit off the words in abrupt sentences. "I know."

Sam sat back on the floor and watched his brother's intense stare. He knew there would be no convincing the older man and he was ready to wait it out. Either way, their mothers soul had not been summoned, that much was abundantly clear.

"Come on! Fuck!" Dean shouted, startling Sam. "Come on!"

Dean felt betrayal cut through him like a razor sharp knife. He knew that his mother was still around, knew that she could see him - after all, angels were suppose to be able to do anything, right? He felt his throat tighten at the thought that she was avoiding him. Why had the ritual not worked? Mary Winchester had become a memory surrounded by perfection, in his mind and now that perfect glow of memory was fading. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Dean. Maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Dean snapped angrily. "Maybe I imagined the whole thing? I don't think so, Sam."

The brothers exchanged stubborn glares, neither willing to back down this time. There was no way that Sam could let Dean keep kidding himself and Dean knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that their mother was an angel.

A soft murmur of voices drifted into the room. They looked around for the source.

"Dean."

Dean whirled around at the sound of his mother's voice. She stood there, in the middle of a strangers kitchen, white light emanating from within her body. Wings of soft, silky feathers shimmered in the daylight streaming through the window. She smiled.

"Dean. You're safe now."

Dean stood slowly to his feet, Sam following his lead, and took a single step towards his mother.

"You are an angel. I knew it." He said softly.

"Mom?" Sam whispered.

Mary's gaze turned to the younger man.

"Sam." The corner of her lips turned up slightly. "Everything will be alright."

"But - how is this possible?" Sam's eyes began to tear. "How?"

A true smile shone from her face, lighting the room. "Oh, honey. I know all of the things that you did."

Sam felt his heart skip a beat, horrified at the thought that his mother had somehow known all of the terrible atrocities he had committed. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to explain, he felt the words bubbling up inside him, but before he could say anything she shook her head.

"Don't, Sam. It's alright, darling."

Her wings fluttered, floating her forward, until she could easily touch either of the men.

"Mom. How?" Dean echoed Sam's earlier question.

She brushed his chin lightly with the edge of her wing. "There are some things you can't know yet, son."

"What does that suppose to even mean? We called you here because we want some answers." Dean said.

"All I am allowed to tell you is this." She put a her left hand on Sam's shoulder and her right on Dean's. "All the darkness and pain will fade. You will both make it through this and be stronger for it."

"It doesn't feel like that's possible." Dean said, his throat tightening. "Some days I feel like I can't keep going." A desperation broke his voice. "Mom, I can't forget."

"Shhh." She moved the hand over his mouth. "I know you have questions and I know it's hard, but, Dean, I know - I _really know _- that things will get better for both of you."

"But you can't explain any of it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Well, that's just great." Dean groused, trying for bravado. "Now what?"

"You Hunt." She said matter-of-factly.

Sam drew in a sharp breath. "Mom, after all the things that I did…What if Hunting puts me in a situation where I - where I do something unforgivable? It got easier to use my powers for…questionable - I mean." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to ever do those things again."

"You won't. Everything that you've learned about your powers will help you and your brother. When you are Hunting, I'll be there with you, watching over you. I won't let you hurt anyone."

Sam lost his fight with the tears and they cascaded down his cheeks. "Where were you?" He implored her through a gut wrenching sob. "All those months - when I was alone - where were you at?"

Mary's chin trembled with emotion. "Oh, honey." Her wings came forward and she enfolded him in a feathery hug. "I'm so sorry." Pulling back a little she included Dean in the hug. "I am so sorry, sons. I came as soon as I could. I did as much as I could."

Sam's shoulders shook under her firm embrace. He could feel the strength in her, it was a part of her that he could sense with his super-human abilities. The dark haired man let himself get lost in the knowledge that she was there finally to help him. It had taken over twenty years, but his mother was there for him.

"Darlings, I found a way to help you. It just took a while, that's all."

Dean breathed in her smell, a light flowery scent, and felt the warmth of her living body. It was so different from the last time he had seen her in this same room. The fire and confusion that had infused those memories were overwritten now with this new Mary Winchester. He smiled, all of the questions and fears melting away in the presence of his mother. He relaxed into her embrace.

--

A passerby outside the house noticed a reflective light inside, sending out rays of blinding light. The old man shrugged in his over-large coat and shook his head. Strange things were always happening with that house and it's owners. Deciding it was none of his business, the man continued on his way home after a hard days work.

--

"Mom."

Dean stepped back from the hug. He felt like all of his problems had been washed away. He felt new and whole for the first time in so very long, it was like a perfect dream. Dean smiled in genuine joy. For the first time since his fifth birthday he felt complete peace fill him.

"So, Hunting, is it?" He asked, his voice steady and strong.

Sam held on to his mother for several moments longer before finally letting her go. "Yeah." He answered his brother with a matching smile. "Hunting."

--

Mary Winchester watched her children sleep. It had been a long day for them both, but they had come out of it healed. She knew there would be new trials, but she also knew that together they could make it through - and there was no force in heaven, hell or earth that could tear her away from their side.

She had a long ways to go to get them in top shape and with the number of demons still in need of vanquishing it was imperative that her sons get back into the battle. Thousands would be saved in the long run, but all that mattered to her was the two men sleeping in front of her, on those dingy motel beds. Mary wings folded behind her back, she knelt next to their beds in turn and gave them both a goodnight kiss.

Their story was just beginning.

THE END


End file.
